


Forgiveness is Only Half the Journey

by Flaming_Skulls



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Body Modification, Curses, Druids, Elf Culture & Customs, Family, Fantasy, Fauns & Satyrs, Gen, Goddesses, Internal Conflict, Men Crying, Miracles, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Regret, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Discovery, Self-Hatred, Soul-Searching, Transformation, Warcraft Lore, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 00:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flaming_Skulls/pseuds/Flaming_Skulls
Summary: A broken man repents. A goddess listens.As we've seen in some questlines, satyrs can be redeemed.





	Forgiveness is Only Half the Journey

The night was mild and and void of life. The light reflecting off the full moon above graced Desolace in a blanket of spectral luminosity. As Kaedar lay flat on his bed mat, staring up at the stars above, he felt a pain in his chest that told his very soul the choices he’s made were the wrong kind. Choices that damned him for possibly all eternity. With his clawed hands laid on his chest, he ran his fingers over one another, feeling the sharpness of his nails and the thick hair trailing his wrist. His tail to the side of him flicked its tip, his contempt taking physical form. The other satyrs nearby snored as they slept, dreaming of ill-will and malice. Kaedar furrowed his bushy brows at the thought. Tonight’s watch was already scouring the low hills surrounding both the desert and the statues dedicated to Elune. His satyr brethren, the ones who were awake, were too far away to notice his restlessness. Kaedar lay just a few inches outside the small tent where he volunteered to sleep outside next to the weapons rack, his fellow Hatecallers either thanking him for his sacrifice at risking being a victim to the elements tonight, or mocking him for his foolishness.  He prefered to sleep outside on nights when he knew there’d be a full moon. Those were the nights he felt closest to Elune, the goddess he turned his back on so many years ago. It had now been over a month when the real unease settled inside him and truly made him feel off balance; out of tune with himself. He hated himself now for hesitating on a kill, for his dark magiks falling out align with his power and making the former night elf feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

He forgot nearly most of  what his past life was like, the life as an innocent druid studying the great Shan’do’s teachings as Teldrassil prospered. For the most part. It was just the other night when Kaedar was woken up suddenly from an all too vivid dream, wise men might say vision, of what his past life was like. The life before Xavius took command. He remembered waking up in a cold sweat inside the tent surrounded by his brothers, his skin sticky and his thick aquamarine hair matted against him. He had scrambled out from the tent as fast as he could, disturbing many into consciousness and earning himself a good few jabs and curses as he dumped out a waterskin’s contents onto his face to cover up the tears he felt streaming down. One of the rogues had asked him what was wrong and he answered that he felt a scorpion crawling in his beard. He switched places with one of the night guards afterwards.

Now, laying on his back and delving deep within himself in a form of spiritual journey, Kaedar realized while he may not remember much of his past, he recollected enough to feel out of step with himself and his fellow satyrs. The realization hit him with a sudden emotional displacement, his conclusion being that he wanted to  _ reverse  _ what he had done to himself thousands of years ago. Kaedar tilted his head to the side, looking to the distance where the Sanctuary of Elune was. He remembered vaguely of an old fountain that held its place in the ruins. A fountain that many of his brethren tried to corrupt, but failed each time, its refined aura setting an example to both worshipers and corrupters alike. Something light and hopeful inside him told him that fountain may be the key to the redemption he yearned for. The trees nearby offered enough coverage in the night to allow sneaking and Kaedar figured once he was in the shadows, he’d be able to carry on what his heart so deeply desired. As quietly but as quickly as he could, he rose from his bed mat and made his way out of the satyr Hatecaller camp. Soft sands cushioned his movements and as if Elune herself was watching, a thick cloud came and covered up the moon, shrouding the once illuminated land in hazy shadow. Sand was replaced soon by soft grass, flattened by his large hooves as Kaedar crept low.  A slight breeze picked up the stagnant desert air and filled Kaedar’s lungs with a breath of renewal, filling his senses with the scent of ripe melons on the earthy ground as he grew closer to the Sanctuary of Elune. When he reached the small fountain within the ruin, he noticed despite all its years of facing both elements and satyrs, it stood strong and defiant. The pillars towering above brought a sense of seclusion and security from the outside forces. The fountain’s structure was barely marred by the weather and the liquid inside glowing brightly blue in the night. Peering into the still crystaline waters, he saw his shattered form reflected back on him. Repressed desperation and hope evident on his face. Leaning over the glowing waters, the satyr felt the ever faint caress of Elune’s presence wafting up to his visage, cradling his head like a loving mother would to her child. Kaedar reached out and gripped the sides of the bowl with his large hands, his shoulders rigid from the inner turmoil building up inside him. Shaking, he dropped to his knees the best he could with his hooves, still holding onto the fountain and closed his eyes. A sense of calm and relief washed over him in waves, his body feeling fulfilled and whole as he bowed. Then, he started to cry. Silently the tears rolled, dropping into his beard or onto the floor and his ribcage convulsed with repressed hiccups. He felt like a child, weeping under an authority that he long deserted, yet he couldn’t stop. A power so strong forced its way in him, forcing him to speak, and he babbled all the emotional discomfort he felt for weeks right there on the pedestal. 

 

“Elune, forgive me of my deeds. Forgive all that I am and see me not for the monster I let myself become, but as a broken man coming to you to feel whole again”, Kaedar’s voice shook and tears rolled into the corners of his mouth, “Restore me to my true self, no matter the terms. No matter how short it may be, I want to feel like my old self again. May it even be in the moonlight you control. Redeem me, oh Goddess. Please.”

 

A sudden flash of light blinded him, even with his eyes closed, and he was knocked onto the stone floor by a bout of water presumably shooting from the bowl. The water began crawling over his skin, acting as a living thing while it coated him and charged his body with an energy he couldn’t see. With his eyes somehow forced shut, he tried to stagger to his hooves as quietly as he could, but then pain fired up from inside him. It began at his very core then blossomed outward to his limbs. Kaedar couldn’t keep quiet anymore and let out a blood curdling scream, baring his fangs as his claws and fingers struggled to find purchase on the cobbled floor of the sanctum. Bones snapping in and out of place caught the satyr off guard and he started to shake violently against the floor, the water force he still could not see engulfing him like a cocoon. 

When Kaedar was finally able to open his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that it was still dark, the moon having moved only a smidge in the deep sky. The dark cloud that once shrouded it had moved on and the land below was illuminated once again. He knew he wasn’t out long, and the delirium he faced must have been shorter than it actually felt. He was currently curled around himself, convulsing slightly at the base of the fountain and his skin and hair somehow dry despite recalling feeling water moments before. He felt pebbles stabbing into his side yet welcomed the insignificant physical pain as a distraction from his mental fluctuation; despite the agony he had felt within him. The night’s breeze returned and this time it chilled Kaedar enough to notice the lack of hair on himself. He growled in both confusion and defiance and made shaky movements to stand, but stopped midway when he noticed his hands under him, no longer clawed and oversized. Lifting the new appendage to his face, he studied it, then ran it along his chin and chest in a trance. Dumbfounded, Kaedar managed to stand upright and grip himself at the bowl once more, looking down. Legs. He had actual legs again. And feet. The weight of his tail behind him was no more. His heart raced in expectation. He leaned over the bowl once again, still filled with liquid somehow, and locked eyes with his reflection. The tightness in his chest released and he sighed out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. 

Kaedar saw himself. His old self before demonic corruption. He was flabbergasted as he took in all that he was now. His aquamarine hair unkempt, but no longer the wild mane he had, and his bush of a beard now reduced to a goatee. He ran his fingers lightly along his sideburns and grinned gleefully.  His horns were no longer protruding from his head and his neck felt the relief of not having to carry that burden after thousands of years. Kaedar was anew. Born again to walk among his people and socialize and to learn all that he missed, rather than destroying knowledge the Kaldorei kept for millenia. He was also naked. The only garments present on him being the feathered armband and feathered necklace he made for himself out of the many birds he may or may not have killed while on his pursuit of glory as a satyr. The newly formed night elf’s legs were still shaky after many centuries without use and his arms grew numb from keeping his uneasy body supported for so long against the fountain. The pebbles he once felt digging into his side were now rough against the soles of his feet and he reveled in the act of feeling with skin again. He would have shouted for joy had it not been the startling realization that there were satyrs still on patrol, and he was keenly aware of the movements they made as they stalked the night. He suddenly felt like prey and an icy pool hit his gut when he discovered that his comrades would not be willing to listen to his explanations if they caught him.  Gazing back into the waters then to the full moon, Kaedar thanked Elune with all his heart then finally let go of the bowl, standing straight on his own. His first step caused a numb pain to stab from his foot up to his thigh with billions of nerve cells firing in agitation. Gritting his teeth in a feral snarl, he kept walking with each step as light as it could be. The breeze rustled the leaves, creating the soft sound of plantlife dancing for his very ears. He discarded modesty and trudged along the grassy hills bare and vulnerable, feeling all too part of the wilderness again. He felt like a druid.

Knowing the guard schedule by heart, Kaedar moved meticulously past the small camps of his once satyr brothers in arms. For a second, he thought of taking one of the armaments for himself, but thought better of it, knowing they kept count to distribute it accordingly come daybreak. If his memory served him well, there was a downed goblin caravan a good few miles away. His satyrs didn’t bother with it, though in need of the possible resources the goblin could be carrying, it was too out of their way and not worth their trouble since adventurers frequently stopped by to aid the distressed stranded. They couldn’t afford any more losses to their numbers. His people were vile and corrupt, but that didn’t mean they weren’t smart or unfeeling.

With a destination set in mind that could offer safety for the night and hopefully goods to trade, Kaedar’s careful movements were discarded as soon as his feet hit the sand barrier at the edge of Hatecaller territory. He moved now with a desperate ferocity, the feeling erupting from him since his body begged to move like a night elf once more and the inner druid deep within him, subdued after lifetimes of neglect, awoke with primal cunning. Not remembering Shan’do’s lessons well enough yet to shift into cat form so he could sprint the distance, Kaedar opted to jog. It was the best his newly created body could handle without sending spikes of pain up his spine. In the distance he heard the hungry calls of hyenas, which egged him on faster towards the sanctuary in the middle of the desert. He kicked up sand as he jogged, the mixture of his unsteady legs and the shifting sands making each step a struggle. Kaedar continued to snarl in defiance and pressed on, moving against the breeze that once wafted the scent of plant life now flinging specks of particles against him. Once or twice he stumbled and collapsed into the dunes, coughing and spitting sand out of his mouth. When he felt his legs could no longer handle the burden, he dragged his body by his forearms and refused to acknowledge the irritating drag of sands against the sensitive, more softer parts of his body. As he scoped the horizon, the light of a campfire caught his eye and Kaedar quickened his pace. It wasn’t too long before he reached the edge of the campfire’s light and the goblin owner of the caravan along with a couple curious adventurers stopped him before he could get any closer in case he was a threat. The scent of roasting marinated meats and oiled leather filled his nostrils and he took in a few deep breaths to savor a smell different than that of his satyr camps. 

 

“Woah, buddy, ya don’t look too hot…”, the goblin said, voice full of concern as he approached cautiously. His large ears and high ponytail at the back of his head bobbed as he approached. “What happened to ya?”

 

“It looked as if he came from the satyr camp out West. Or East, whichever way you’re facing”, a pandaren priest supplied, kneeling down over his large belly to ease Kaedar’s pain with tendrils of holy light. The night elf sighed in appreciation.

 

“Blasted satyrs. I wonder why we don’ hunt ‘em down right here, right now!”, a hot-headed dwarf hunter declared, his crazed eyes glistening under the starlight hungering for justice and bloodlust. His bear pet sniffed Kaedar’s foot and growled before snorting a heavy breath and lumbering away back to its master’s side. Once it grew bored of the situation, it trotted back towards the campfire and plopped itself down with a huff, picking up dust as it sat its large behind into the sand.

 

“Now is not the time. Come, stranger. We have room for one more by the fire”, a tauren monk welcomed the night elf arrival graciously, despite faction dispute, and lifted the dirty man off the ground with a single arm around the waist, unmoved by the the lack of clothing Kaedar had. Kaedar’s pride would have suffered less if the tauren wasn’t a female. She carried him easily back with her strong arm, sereneness radiating off of her and proving quite well why the tauren were a peaceful race.

 

As they all made their way back to camp, the hunter yelled to one last party member that had taken refuge for the night.

 

“Oi! Rinin! We brought ye a friend!”, he cackled in an overzealous manner. 

 

The night elf man the dwarf was calling to made a rude gesture that all races could translate and the dwarf laughed. Figuring Kaedar would feel more comfortable sitting with one of his own kind after assuming he’d been through a horrific ordeal, the tauren woman sat him down next to the first night elf present before him. A rogue who was tending to the meats with a begrudging look. Whether the look on his face was about the meats or about Kaedar the former satyr did not know. By Kaedar’s luck he had arrived just as the meats were finished roasting and Bibbly the stranded goblin shared with him the largest piece he was able to offer. Kaedar had never been so grateful. The meat tasted better than anything he had tasted after centuries of dining on either small, fel-infused, or too gamey of animal meats. It tasted like mountain goat, which Kaedar found the humor in, but it was the best mountain goat he had ever tasted. Whoever seasoned the meat knew full well what they were doing and he savored every bite, every mouthful until there was no more. The smoke rising from the fire into the sky cleansed the new night elf, covering up the satyr scent like a blanket and making him feel he was truly starting anew. The hodgepodge group of adventurers who were bunking with each other for this singular night grew comfortable with each other surprisingly well in Kaedar’s opinion. The atmosphere surrounding Kaedar in the beginning of the night shifted amazingly to something carefree and hospitable, and he could never be more thankful to Elune. After their meal was finished, with a few laughs and jokes in between, the crew gathered a bucket of water for their new arrival and the rogue known as Rinin set to work on crafting clothes by leatherworking. They said their ‘good nights’ and proceeded to pick a corner of the caravan they could claim as their own for the night, to be undisturbed as they slept in preparation for a presumably fruitful day of questing. Kaedar was not sure how exactly they expected him to bathe with only a small bucket of water but deciding this wash down would only be to get the sand out of the unsavory places, he stood a few paces away from the fire and washed the areas that bothered him the most first before dumping the entire bucket on himself unceremoniously. The act earned him a few good chuckles from Rinin which caused Kaedar to become elated. His first experience with another night elf after being a satyr for such a tremendous amount of time was as if his soul took a deep breath of fresh air. He never sought for validation among his satyr clan, but the feeling of being in a revived body in a time where all he was familiar with was death and turmoil made the man feel a tad out of place on where he now stood in the world. Once dried by both the heat of the fire and the light breeze, Kaedar began to meticulously braid his hair the way he thinks he would have used to have it so many years ago. The process was quiet and calming, leaving a lull of comfortable silence between the two last elves awake. The only other sounds around being snoring from both tauren and dwarf, the crackling of the fire, and the skinning knife Rinin used as he carved away extra scraps of leather.

 

“I don’t believe I caught your name, stranger from the dark”, Rinin spoke casually, finishing up the stitching on the pair of pants he had been working on while the other night elf cleaned himself. Handing his handiwork to his fellow night elf, the darker haired elf watched silently as Kaedar put the hastily-made pants on. They weren’t much to look at, but to Kaedar they meant so much more than their material worth and they would cover him well enough for the night. 

 

“Oh...my name is Kaedar. I was--I mean I  _ am _ a druid.” His voice was far more lighter yet worn than he recalled and the former satyr realized Rinin was the first person to get out a well constructed sentence from him rather than a gruff, monosyllabic response ever since he was turned into his night elven form. To speak like a true Kaldorei again made Kaedar feel all the more at home in his body.

 

Rinin’s response was only a hum of confirmation and a nod as he moved to the back of the caravan. The druid believed that to be the end of their interactions, admittedly disappointed he couldn’t converse more with another one of his people. Returning, however, the rogue held out pelts of animal fur and a bed mat to the newcomer. 

 

“Pick any place you’d like to sleep. It’s a common courtesy to give at least a 7 foot berth if you can’t find any secluded areas to sleep.”

 

“Can I sleep next to you?”, Kaedar asked before he could filter his mouth. He was unable to offer further explanation and clarify that he needed to be in close quarters in order to actually sleep due to millenia of camping with twenty or morso satyrs within an encampment before Rinin shot him a ridiculous look. His face was caught between a glare and surprise. Without another word, the rogue turned away from the other and laid out his own sleeping mat on the far side of the fire, just enough to feel its warmth but to also be out of the light. Shedding the heavier armor, Rinin set it neatly by his head and covered himself with furs. Kaedar stood where he left him not knowing what to do with himself. Looking over his shoulder from where he was on the sandy ground, the rogue sighed in exasperation and called over to Kaedar.

  
“No more than two feet next to me. And if you try anything funny during the night or if I wake up with my things stolen, I will hunt you down. Got that,  _ druid _ ?”

**Author's Note:**

> Backstory for my Druid Kaedar, who is still a satyr. The gift Elune grants him is only in effect under her light, which turns him back to a satyr come daytime.
> 
> Wanted to do some internal struggles and reflection on what some satyrs might go through if they regret the actions they made long ago.
> 
>  
> 
> All locations can actually be found in game and so can the goblin. I wanted to make sure I had the setting right. Adventurers were created at random and are not any of my actual characters


End file.
